tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24067802102411007302018-03-06T14:40:01.463-08:00George Carlin Could Say It Better, I'm Sure.articulicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12384568125339116557noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2406780210241100730.post-43086015859459037492007-12-07T03:43:00.000-08:002007-12-07T04:03:32.943-08:00sidestreet stream of consciousnessit was raining tonight, so i kept my radio at a low volume, which usually lends to deeper thinking while i'm driving. i don't know why, it's just how it is. and yes, i meant radio. i have nothing fancier in my beat up truck. i thought i'd invite y'all to strap on your seatbelts and hop into the passenger seat of my brain and take a ride with me on the way home. this...is the shit i think about. green light.<br /><br />fuck, it's raining. i should probably get my window fixed. is my seat wet? yes. that means i can't wear these jeans tomorrow. really, i should get it fixed. but i'm too stubborn...oh, well. heater on? check. it's almost 3am, so only drunks and PAs are on the road right now, so i'm taking the side streets. if i fucking die tonight because some asshole tricked himself into believing he was sober enough to sail across the shitty LA streets in the middle of a...well, i wouldn't call it a RAIN STORM, but it's California and everyone knows none of us know how to deal with any sort of weather other than 70 degrees and sunny...i will die. and, fuck. i have clothes all over my floor. if i die tonight because of that drunk asshole and they have to go clear out my stuff, they are going to find 150 pairs of my underpants on the floor. that alone should be reason enough for me to stop throwing my underpants on the floor. i should probably just start basing all of my decisions on whether or not i want to be known for them when i'm dead. ugh. elton john should never be allowed to cover beatles songs. ohhh, but michael buble sings a wonderful "let it snow!" this place is awesome in the winter, i don't care what anyone says. snow is nice to visit, but sunshine is the only place i want to live. all these fucking transplants come to LA and are all complainy about how WARM it is during the holidays and i just want to be like "UGH. then go back home and make snow angels and blog about how awesome it is, asshole." anyone who prefers to spend three straight months in dismal, gloomy, frozen weather is certifiably insane. and did you ever notice how much happier santa looks when he's wearing those little shorts and a hawaiian shirt while carrying a surfboard? i rest my case. but i really do love this place. i'll never drive through hollywood without thinking of how lucky i am. whether or not any of them come true, this place is fueled on dreams. everyone here has them. most of them forget them, but little things like the hollywood sign poking out between the trees in your office parking lot make you remember why you came. even me, who's been here all my life. it's probably the reason i've never left. oh, good song. i will never stop wanting to make out with a guy to "glycerine" by bush. who did i have a crush on when this song came out? oh, haha. josh charlton. i posted something on his facebook today...i'll have to see if he kept it. nothing is cooler than saying you lost your virginity to the school mascot, even if it takes you 10 years to appreciate its full greatness. speaking of virginity, here's another great song to make out to. "magic man" by heart is honestly one of the sexiest songs ever recorded. and i truly believe that all generations can appreciate that. if my grandma were still hooking up with dudes, i'd put this on a mix for her. oh, that's where i went to that insanely overpriced therapist for one day and basically cried for the entire hour without stopping. she was a jerk. i am never eating at that salad place again. once i found out that i probably got poisoning because there was some form of poo in my salad, i almost made the decision to stop eating salad altogether. but that's...not a wise choice. god, i hope it's not raining on my way into work tomorrow. look at that dude. it must really suck to homeless in the rain. man, if there's a fucking bum in my stairwell, i'm going to have a heart attack. shit, did i leave my sliding door unlocked? that bum is probably sleeing in my bed instead of my stairwell. i'm sleeping in my car.articulicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12384568125339116557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2406780210241100730.post-51203653842039209702007-10-16T14:26:00.000-07:002007-10-16T14:54:36.410-07:00mucho take it EASY, lindsay.I'm sort of in a state of rage right now due to the fact that I have to spend every last penny on a second fucking bridesmaid dress for my step-sister's second fucking ginormous wedding, AND I've been having to deal with the fact that if I turn my bath on, my bathroom explodes and my bedroom is saturated with disgusting Santa Monica tap water. It's the third time it has happened, this bathroom explosion. This time it claimed the lives of two pairs of my boots, a sorta fancy bra, and my motherfucking bathmat from Target. The boots are ruined, and so is the bra. Well, it's all ruined, but the bathmat irritates me the most. Not because it's the most expensive ($10 from Target), but because it's going to be the most irritating piece to replace. If I want new boots or a bra, I can just walk over to the Promenade and pick them up. But if I want to replace my bathmat, which I do, I have to drive all the way to Culver FUCKING City to Target and barrel down a sea of screaming children and their completely oblivious parents just to get a replacement. So I'm annoyed, basically. And I wanted to get that out before I jump into this little number so that it was clear why my tone may be less than sunny.<br /><br />I've decided I need to work on getting over myself. I've told a million people to get over themselves, but I've never said it to myself. While I was driving today, the song "1234" by Feist came on the radio. I listen to the radio in my car, see, because I don't have a CD player. And I'd buy one if I had a working window in my car, but since I'm too cheap to replace it, I can't keep anything valuable in my car at any time. My bowling ball even got stolen once! So I listen to the radio. It's good, though. I can keep up with the kids. Except when they play songs on Star 98.7, which is meant for people in their FORTIES, that I have liked for months already. It's happened several times, with several artists. At first I wanted to turn it off because I didn't want to encourage it, but then I had a miniature moment of clarity and I realized this: What's wrong with people listening to the music I like? I'm all about making mixed discs for people. It's my favorite when I introduce a friend to a new artist. But why do I have an issue when random forty-somethings I don't even know get to hear my favorite songs? It's not like I discovered these artists. Rarely am I the first of my friends to hear something completely unheard of. And it would be one thing if I hated everything else on the radio stations except for the artists that I previously enjoyed...but I don't. I'm with the rest of them. I'll listen to a Coldplay song on the radio. (Yeah, I'll admit it.) I don't change the station when "Umbrella" by either Rihanna OR Mandy Moore comes on. So what makes those Star 98.7 douchebags any different from me? Nothing at all. CHILL OUT, Lindsay. Instead, I should be excited that the artists I like are actually starting to taste national success. I'm going to work on that.<br /><br />I came to the Sony lot (where I work now) for my interview, and I was completely overwhelmed. I had to wait in this long line in order to get clearance to even step another foot further onto the lot. There was a Visitors section, and an Employees section. As I was waiting, I watched all of the employees whiz by and dance onto the lot towards whatever exciting job they had. I wondered if they looked at the visitors waiting in their single-file line and thought "Pshhh. Visitors." My first week here was fairly humbling, because even though I was officially hired, they security office was out of badges, so I still needed to pass through the Visitors gate each morning on my way in. I desperately wanted my little magnetic badge that allowed me to bypass all those pathetic non-employees. Alas, I continued through the Visitors gate for an additional week. I finally got my badge last week, and I was ecstatic. When I got to the turnstile that lets you onto the lot, I slammed my new badge down on the scanner and started to run through towards the lot. Apparently you have to wait a moment for the light to turn green, and then you may proceed, but I never got that memo. I immediately jumped forward, and almost as quickly was slammed backwards into the man behind me. Clearly I was new at this whole EMPLOYEE thing. I was slightly mortified. The worst part was that all of the visitors that were waiting in line for their entrance witnessed the entire ordeal. At that moment, I would rather have been one of them. Now that I know how to enter the turnstile, and I'm a seasoned employee (two weeks!!), I look at those visitors with the same amount of contempt that I had imagined the employees looked at me when I was just a lowly visitor. You can't help it. It's like the Sneeches and the Star-bellied Sneeches. You want what you can't have, and you want desperately to prove that you have what others don't have. It's really sad. And I wish I could say that after having written this my heart now goes out to those waiting in line...but it doesn't. I have my badge, and that's all I need.<br /><br /><br />"A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small bundle." -Benjamin Franklinarticulicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12384568125339116557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2406780210241100730.post-42694233852389915122007-10-10T11:23:00.000-07:002007-10-10T11:26:09.973-07:00*TYPOS*Ok, after re-reading my last post, I realize that there are some typos. Yes, I know the difference between TO and TOO. I just...fucked up. I'm at work when I write these things and I panic easily. No need to point out my mistakes....I already know about them.<br /><br />"Be as smart as you can, but remember that it is always better to be wise than to be smart." - Alan Alda<br /><br />love.<br />lindsayarticulicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12384568125339116557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2406780210241100730.post-44569966431865725052007-10-10T10:08:00.000-07:002007-10-10T11:11:43.444-07:00I'm Sorry I lost my "cool," Denzel.The first week I was on this new job, all my co-workers could talk about is how Adam Sandler walks around the lot, or how our offices look right into Will Farrell's production company. Or how DENZEL WASHINGTON is just like...hanging out in the common area. By the time I get out too see about any of these sightings (save for the Will Farrell production company...remind me to tell you about "Window Guy"...), the only people in sight are PAs, security guards, and a bunch (bunch!) of union workers taking their 2349087th smoke break of the day. Well, to be fair, on my first day I DID see a bunch of those fucking Cavemen dudes strolling around, giving thumbs ups, and taking photographs with tourists on the lot. Yes, you can take a tour if you want. No, I won't join you. On my second day, I took the long route to my office from the parking structure, which is already like...half a mile away...in hopes that by covering more area, my chances of bumping into Denzel would be greater. Wrong. But I DID see those fucking CAVEMEN again smoking cigarettes outside of their trailer, waiting for their prosthetic makeup to be completed. They were everywhere. I was even watching an episode of Dancing With The Stars and they cut to some audience members who were none other than the FUCKING CAVEMEN. I couldn't get away from those bastards! A week went by, and the only thing I ever saw were the backs of celebrities heads as they walked by me unnoticed. Of course, the only moment I ever looked down, all sorts of awesome people would walk right by me without my knowledge. <br /><br />About a week into this gig, my day came. I was at the cafe for lunch waiting for my turkey wrap and trying desperately to find my happy place since the feng shui of the place is so off it spins me into an instant panic attack, and suddenly something came into my sight that broke my focus. It was Jonah Hall from Superbad. Those of you who don't already know, I have the biggest jones for supergeeks, and seeing Jonah Hill was like the jackpot. Still in my state of tranquility, and unable to react appropriately, I just stared at him. He was talking to some dirty looking dude, who I would later realize was James Franco, and every time he tried to get to the salad bar or soda fountain, I would sorta just...sidle up to him and not say anything. It was like he was the Great White Shark, and I was his trusty little pilot fish. Only, I'm pretty sure he would rather I wasn't near him at all, unlike the Great White. Nothing eventful happened after that. I didn't say anything ridiculous, which is...shocking. And neither did he. But I felt like I had won. No more of this fucking CAVEMEN BULLSHIT. I'm in the big leagues, I thought. But that wasn't the real magic. <br /><br />On our way back I was in the middle of a gang of dudes and I was aggressively arguing that video game violence has a direct effect on our youth, and most certainly desensitizes humanity to all sorts of violence, thus making the act of actual violence seem less consequential. Brian Phillips, our lovable editor with a whisper as loud as a blowhorn, tapped my shoulder right in the midst of my closing arguments, and said something that I guess I was supposed to listen to. But this was my moment to lock down this argument and, perhaps, change the way someone thought...which is always my goal. *SIDENOTE: I really don't know why I got so worked up about video game violence in the first place. As a general rule, I try to avoid dating guys that are heavily into video games, but it's only because it takes the focus off of me for a moment while they are wrapped up in whatever fucking ridiculous fantasy world at the time. ANYHOW. Brian Phillips kept tapping my shoulder and trying to whisper the words "Denzel Washington," but it was loud enough for good old Denzel to tip his head into our direction. My reaction time must be slow, because not until I was face to face with Denzel did the words that Brian shouted compute, so Denzel's glance was met with the most typical of Lindsay reactions. I looked at Denzel Washington and, once our eyes officially met, I screamed the words "SON OF A MOTHERFUCKER!!!" Startled, I'm sure, Denzel just...bowed his head and kept walking by. It may not have been my proudest moment, but it was a moment I'll remember for the rest of my life. Never again will I be able to watch a film featuring Denzel, whether he is portraying a crooked cop, a beloved high school football coach, or...Mahatma Gandhi...NEVER will I be able to look at his face without thinking the words SON OF A MOTHERFUCKER. It would make more sense if it had been some dirtbag actor like...James Franco, for instance. Then it would have just been hilarious. But it had to be one of the classiest men in motion pictures today. And for that, Denzel, I apologize. You've earned more respect than that. But you have to admit...it's still pretty funny.<br /><br />"In Los Angeles, everyone is a star." - Denzel Washington<br /><br />love.<br />lindsayarticulicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12384568125339116557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2406780210241100730.post-64371381336246355472007-10-09T22:19:00.000-07:002007-10-09T22:46:12.610-07:00Frodo can suck it.<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_GWBDem7Ealg/RwxiM2ykDKI/AAAAAAAABaA/RRiqYBgLbzg/s1600-h/DSCF1755.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_GWBDem7Ealg/RwxiM2ykDKI/AAAAAAAABaA/RRiqYBgLbzg/s320/DSCF1755.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119574849418955938" /></a><br /><br />I broke out the footie pyjamas tonight, deeming October 9th National Jammie Jam Day. I encourage everyone to celebrate by purchasing your own set of footies. I got mine at Target a few years ago, but there are SEVERAL sites that sell a variety of styles. I'd like to say that the smell of dry leaves and fires burning in neighbors chimneys made me nostalgic and subliminally prompted me to put the footies on, but really...my feet were cold. But it's a season for me, footie season. Once I get in footie mode, I'm basically in lockdown for a few months. Hard to imagine, I know...what, with me being the summer's biggest lush and all...but it's true. I will drink myself silly (and into a foreigner's hotel room from time to time) every other day from June until September, and then October hits, or what I like to call "Octsober," and I become geriatric. I think footie season is my time to let my liver and kidneys take a little hiatus. <br /><br />I'm going to have to break my winter vow of sobriety this week, as my dear friend Sunny is packing up and leaving the country. New Zealand, actually, and I fully intend to follow her there. This Friday is her going away party at our local haunt, and, keeping with the New Zealand theme, all attendants are required to show up in either Lord of the Rings attire, or the less challenging, less RIDICULOUS Flight of the Conchords. I'm not sure if I should be worried that my first instinct was to dress as Gandalf (not a hot elf, or even a slutty hobbit), or if I should celebrate that part of me. With even more consideration, I eventually decided to go with Gimli the dwarf. I feel like it will be the less popular decision, therefore allowing me to defend my high school superlative title of "most unique." If there is another Gimli there, I will boo him/her out of the bar. I was going to purchase the plastic battle axe that Gimli is never seen without, but I have a hard enough time carrying a purse around without losing it while I'm under the influence, let alone a battle axe. The evening is going to be glorious. Mainly because The King's Head (our joint) is normally packed with young, successful twenty/thirty somethings looking for a suitable mate to take home to their family for the holidays, or to their bed for the evening, and on this night they are going to be overwhelmed by an enormous crowd of kids flaunting their favorite LOTR digs. Nothing kills a boner faster than LOTR, so hopefully those assholes will skip out and let us geeks have the bar to ourselves. *fingers crossed* At the end of the night, I will stumble home drunk (only 7 blocks from my house!!!) and wake up the next morning only to realize that I a) drank way too much the night before, and b) that my friend Sunny is gone. I'm going to be depressed for a bit, but we've already decided that I will save every penny that I would normally spend on drinks out with Sunny (a considerable sum, believe you me) and put it right into my "I'm Following Sunny To New Zealand" fund. The plan is to make the move by spring. <br /><br />I started this blog not because I think anyone wants to read what I have to say about anything, but because I need to keep myself motivated so I can actually make this plan come to fruition. As history will show, I am not much of a saver, but more of a spender. I may ask for advice or a kick in the ass from time to time, so be on the lookout. <br /><br />And come to The King's Head this Friday, October 12th. But don't even think of showing up without some sort of costume. I will not even look your direction if you are dressed like a civilian.<br /><br />"Hooray for most things!" - George Carlin<br /><br />love.<br />lindsayarticulicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12384568125339116557noreply@blogger.com2